Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Bruises for Bread

𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

My hand shot out in the dark, grasping at the empty spot where Elijah should have been. The straw was still warm, but he was gone. I bolted upright, breath catching in my throat like a hook. The room spun for a second, black walls, black shadows, the faint drip-drip from the roof like a heartbeat too slow.

"Elijah?" I whispered again, louder this time. Nothing. Just Mother's ragged breathing and Miemje's soft snores from the mattress across the room.

Panic flooded me, hot and sharp, like needles under my skin. I wanted to shake Mother awake, scream for her to help, but she was so exhausted, her body limp as a rag doll after the day's endless men. And Miemje, curled up beside her, small fists clenched in sleep, would wake too, her big eyes filling with terror if she saw me panicking. I couldn't do that to her. Not again.

I slipped off the pallet quietly, feet bare on the cold dirt. The curtain swayed again, a whisper of breeze or something more. I pushed it aside and stepped into the corridor, heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears.

The building was a maze of narrow halls and shared rooms, the kind where families like ours piled on top of each other like rats in a trap. I started running—soft at first, then faster, bare feet slapping against the grime-slick floor. Doors were shut, but I knocked on the closest one anyway.

"Have you seen a boy? Eight years old, brown hair, my brother, Elijah?"

A grumpy voice mumbled from inside. "Piss off, girl. It's the middle of the night."

Next door. Knock. "Please, he's missing. Small, thin—have you heard anything?"

A woman cracked the door, her face gaunt in the dim lantern light. "Saw a kid sneaking around earlier. Didn't think much of it. Check the stairs."

I ran on, legs burning, breath coming in short gasps. The stairs—down to the common area, out to the street. No sign. Houses blurred as I banged on more doors, voice cracking with desperation. "Elijah! Has anyone seen my brother?"

People grumbled, cursed, slammed doors. One old man leered at me through a crack, his breath stinking of ale. "Lost something, pretty? Come in, I'll help you look."

I backed away, stomach twisting, and kept moving. The fear was alive now—clawing at my chest, making my hands shake. What if he'd been taken? Rank 1 kids disappeared all the time—sold to breeders, snatched for labor, or worse in a world where bodies were currency. Elijah was small, hungry, too trusting. Pain shot through me at the thought, sharp as a knife twist. I couldn't lose him. Not him.

Then it hit me—earlier that day. He'd begged to run to the bakery across the street for a look at the loaves in the window. "Just to smell them, Susie," he'd said with those big eyes. I'd let him go, thinking it was harmless.

I burst out the building's main door into the night street, the cobblestones cold and wet under my feet. The bakery was dark, shutters closed, but a faint light flickered from the back alley. Voices. Shouts.

I ran toward them, rounding the corner.

There he was.

Elijah, backed against the alley wall, small body crumpled on the ground. Three young boys—maybe twelve or thirteen, Rank 2 thugs with dirt-smeared faces and ragged clothes—surrounded him, kicking at his ribs, laughing.

"Theft! You're a thief!"

"Little rat stole bread—think you can take from us?"

Elijah was curled up, arms over his head, sobbing. "I was hungry… just hungry…"

I didn't think. I charged in, shoving the closest boy hard enough to send him stumbling. "Stop! Get off him—that's my brother!"

The boys turned, eyes narrowing. One spit on the ground. "Your thief brother nicked a loaf from the shop. We caught him. He deserves it."

I knelt beside Elijah, pulling him into my arms. His face was bruised, lip split, tears streaking the dirt on his cheeks. He clung to me, small body shaking. "Susie… I'm sorry… I was just so hungry…"

"It's okay," I whispered, hugging him tight, his little heart racing against mine. "It's okay, Eli. I've got you." But inside, the pain twisted—anger at him for risking it, fear that I hadn't protected him, guilt that our life was this desperate.

The boys hovered, muttering. Then a shadow fell over us from the bakery's back door. The shop owner stepped out—a fat half-democat, his furred ears twitching, tail lashing behind him. Half-demon, half-feline, eyes glowing yellow in the dark. He crossed his arms over his massive belly, looking down at us with a smirk that showed sharp fangs.

"What's this ruckus?" he growled, voice like gravel mixed with a purr.

I stood, keeping Elijah behind me. "I'm sorry, sir. My brother… he took bread. He didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean?" The democat laughed, a low rumble. "Bread don't grow on trees, girl. He stole. Pay up or I call the guards."

Elijah whimpered against my leg. "Susie… I was hungry…"

I swallowed hard. "I… we don't have money right now. Tomorrow, I promise—"

The democat's eyes raked over me, up and down, slow and hungry. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He smiled wider, that idiot grin full of too many teeth. "You can pay me with something else, pretty. Something nice. Step inside, we'll work it out."

My stomach dropped. Fear hit like ice water—cold, choking. His gaze lingered on my chest, my hips, like I was a loaf on his shelf. Pain bloomed in my chest, sharp and familiar: the world always demanding bodies when coins ran out. I was untouched, but how long could that last? Elijah's small hand tightened in mine. I couldn't. Not here. Not like this.

"What!?" I stammered, voice breaking. "No—I can't—"

The democat leaned closer, breath hot and rank. "Oh, you can, girl. Or your little thief goes to the guards. They don't take kindly to Rank 1 rats stealing."

The boys snickered behind him. Elijah started crying again. The alley felt smaller, walls closing in. My heart raced, mind spinning for a way out.

My throat closed. Fear tasted like metal. Every instinct screamed run, but there was nowhere to run. The alley mouth was blocked by the boys, the bakery door behind us. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers closing around the shard of glass I always carried — sharp enough to cut, not sharp enough to kill a half-demon. Not without getting myself killed too.

I opened my mouth to say something — anything — when heavy boots crunched on the gravel behind the boys.

"Oi. What's this?"

A guard stepped into the alley light. Rank 4 uniform — leather vest stamped with the city crest, short sword at his hip, face scarred from too many nights in the lower streets. He wasn't young, wasn't kind-looking, but he wasn't leering either. Just tired.

The democat straightened, smile faltering for half a second before he recovered. "Just handling a theft, officer. Little rat stole a loaf. Family can't pay."

The guard's eyes flicked to Elijah — small, crying, bruised — then to me. Then to the democat's grin.

He snorted. "Looks like you've already 'handled' enough for one night."

The boys shifted uncomfortably. The democat's tail lashed once.

"I'm within my rights," the democat said. "Bread's gone. Debt's owed."

The guard stepped forward, boots deliberate. "Rights? In Rank 1 streets? You've got rights when I say you do." He looked at me again, something unreadable in his eyes. Not pity. Not lust. Just… recognition. Like he'd seen this scene too many times.

The guard reached into his pouch and pulled out a single silver coin—brighter and heavier than anything we'd earned in weeks. He flicked it through the air with casual precision. It spun once, catching the dim alley light, then landed perfectly in the democat's fat palm.

"That covers the bread," the guard said, voice flat and final. "And the bruises you put on the kid. Consider it charity. Now fuck off before I decide to inspect your books for 'missing' stock."

The democat blinked, ears twitching. The boys froze mid-sneer. For a heartbeat the alley held its breath.

Then the shop owner pocketed the coin with a low grunt. "Fine. But tell the girl to keep her brother on a leash."

He turned and lumbered back inside, tail lashing once before the door slammed shut. The boys scattered like startled rats, muttering curses that faded into the night.

The guard gave me one last look—tired, then walked away, boots crunching gravel until the sound died.

I dropped to my knees and pulled Elijah into my arms. He buried his face in my neck, small body shaking, tears soaking my collar. I held him so tight I could feel every ragged breath he took.

We didn't speak the whole way back to the house. I carried him most of the distance, his legs too weak to keep up, my own feet numb on the cold stones. When we slipped through the curtain, Mother was already asleep, Miemje curled beside her. I laid Elijah on our pallet, wiped the blood from his lip with the edge of my sleeve, and wrapped myself around him like a shield.

I didn't yell at him.

I didn't have the strength.

Instead I stared at the ceiling in the dark, humiliation burning low in my gut. The guard's coin had saved us tonight, but it hadn't erased the truth: my little brother had been beaten in an alley because he was starving. Because I hadn't been fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to stop it. Because this was our life—Rank 1, always one meal away from desperation.

I hugged Elijah tighter. His breathing eventually slowed into sleep. I stayed awake, eyes open, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest until the first gray light leaked through the cracks in the roof.

Morning came too soon.

Mother stirred first, groaning as she sat up. Miemje blinked awake beside her, rubbing her eyes. Elijah was still asleep in my arms, face peaceful for once.

Mother looked at me and frowned. "Why are your eyes so shallow? Bad sleep?"

I forced a small shrug. "Nothing."

She didn't push. She never did when she was tired.

Then it came—the long, deep horn blast that rolled across the city like distant thunder.

Every five years.

The Academy horn.

Mother's head snapped up. Her eyes widened. A smile—real, bright, almost painful—split her face.

"It's the Academy horn!" she cried, voice cracking with sudden joy. "It's the Academy horn!"

She scrambled off the mattress, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me into a fierce hug.

"You have to go, Susie. You have to rush to the gate now. Tell them you're a virgin—clean, untouched. Wash your face, use my last bottle of rose perfume—the expensive one I've been saving. You have to get into that school."

I stood frozen, her words crashing over me.

You might be wondering: is this Academy a place to learn trades, philosophy, magic theory?

Absolutely not.

This is Monster Cock Academy, the glittering fortress where the elite monster-bloods go to hone their power through breeding, claiming, and rutting. Where virgin girls from the lower ranks are sometimes allowed entry as "tributes," tested, trained, and, if they survive, paired with a high-rank sex demon, beast-lord, or even a warlord.

A successful match could lift an entire family from Rank 1 to Rank 3 overnight. Middle-class safety. Food that wasn't soup. A roof that didn't leak. A life where Elijah never had to steal bread again.

I looked down at him, still sleeping, bruised cheek pressed to my arm.

The horn sounded again—longer this time, insistent.

Mother shoved the tiny perfume vial into my hand. "Go freshen up. Now. This is our chance. Don't come back without a seal of entry."

Time was ticking.

I swallowed hard, throat dry as ash.

I had to get into that school.

I had to become a student of the Elite Monster Cock Academy.

Because if I didn't…

We would stay exactly where we were.

And I was done staying.